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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26474011">Hockey Pucks &amp; Golf Clubs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyhonni/pseuds/Pipsqueak'>Pipsqueak (Skyhonni)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Not Much (But They’re Trying) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fire, Snippet, YouTube, YouTube Video, YouTube comments!, basically this is Papyrus having a meltdown while you and sans fuck around, behind the scenes (sort of), deploy the boy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:28:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,873</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26474011</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyhonni/pseuds/Pipsqueak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You follow Papyrus’s recipe, but it’s more like an experiment at this point.</p><p>•°•°•°•</p><p>“a mockery of hockey pucks, bro. you need to make sure they can get unstuck from the pan. how’re we gonna use ’em now? i even got my hockey stick out and everything.”</p><p>“What in the world are you even talking about,” Papyrus sputters.</p><p>Sans whips his camera around to zoom in on a golf club propped up against the far wall. You fight the urge to crack the hell up immediately.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Papyrus &amp; Sans (Undertale), Papyrus (Undertale) &amp; Reader, Sans (Undertale) &amp; Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Not Much (But They’re Trying) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923259</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>128</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hockey Pucks &amp; Golf Clubs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is total bullshit. I pulled it out of my ass. Anyway I might come back to this to edit it</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So you get your big YouTube break in the form of a tall skeleton with the same vocal range of Bohemian Rhapsody on steroids.</p><p> </p><p>By cooking cookies that literally light on fire in the kitchen of his brother’s house.</p><p> </p><p>His brother being the person you just had sex with not even twelve hours prior for the first time. Drunk. You hardly know him. You both currently have hangovers.</p><p> </p><p>You don’t even know where your fucking underwear is.</p><p> </p><p>And you’re having a blast.</p><p> </p><p>You’d had this idea during a discussion over a bowl of Monster Loops and milk, after bonding through a long-winded and explosive AdSense rant. (And also remembering a hell of a lot more from last night, but you kept those bits to yourself. You don’t think Papyrus would appreciate the details as much as you do.)</p><p> </p><p>You proposed that you could follow Papyrus’s recipe step by step if he’d follow yours.</p><p> </p><p>He’d enthusiastically agreed, much to your surprise. You were such a small channel compared to him, you thought he’d let you down easy or something.</p><p> </p><p>Sans hastily sets down his camera on the counter and hefts up the huge canister to become a hero for the dozen cookies permanently glued to the pan.</p><p> </p><p>Literally. With gorilla glue. You have no idea where Papyrus got this recipe, but it was probably FourChan.</p><p> </p><p>“oh, jesus. snickers, get out of firing range. you really don’t wanna inhale this shit,” Sans says, dutifully using your online handle as you asked them both to before recording.</p><p> </p><p>“Sans!” you exclaim, mock-scandalized, “PG-13 only! Think of deserts, not slurs! Now we’re going to have to bleep you out!”</p><p> </p><p>Papyrus stays where he is, looking down at his cookies, aghast. “We just need to put them <em> back </em>in the oven—”</p><p> </p><p>“i think, uh,” there’s a moment of silence where Sans just kind of looks at the fire currently burning the cookies alive, at a loss for words. There’s a sizzling noise and then a pop. Papyrus folds his arms and looks his brother sternly in the eye, clearly conveying the <em>I’m</em> <em>waiting</em> stance. Sans gestures at the pan with the canister nozzle. “look, i might not know much about baking but—i think snickers might be on the right track, bro—”</p><p> </p><p>“OH MY GOD. You are <em> BOTH </em> wrong.” Sans ignores him and starts blasting the fire with quick spurts. Papyrus raises his volume to be heard. “Why did you take them out so early?? They’re not even <em> evenly </em> charred!”</p><p> </p><p>You can’t help but burst out laughing. “Dude, I think they’re capital D Done.”</p><p> </p><p>“They had <em> ten more minutes! </em>” he insists. He goes so far as to stomp his foot. He’s also getting white fire extinguisher exhaust all over the front of his black apron, but you’re not gonna say jack shit because it’s hilarious.</p><p> </p><p>Sans stops spraying the cookies down and turns to you, but not before you see him flick the safety pin back up. He points the nozzle like a gun. “i have a fire extinguisher, snickers, don’t think i won’t use it for evil. i dare you to bleep me out.”</p><p> </p><p>“You literally just warned me not to inhale it,” you point out, raising your hands in surrender, a smile wide on your face. He fakes you out with the trigger, and you pretend to plead, “Are you going back on your life of service? Think of your country.”</p><p> </p><p>“fudge this country,” he mutters lowly, and even though you know it’s going to get cut out in post for brushing too close to a political statement, you can’t help but wish it wouldn’t, because that was fucking perfect. You laugh. He gives you a crooked grin and sets the extinguisher down next to the cookie tray, probably for comedic effect in the next shot. </p><p> </p><p>(Sans had slung that bad boy out of the pantry like it was just as important of an ingredient as flour or butter, which only made sense to you since you’d seen his brother’s cooking show once before. According to him, Sans was always the one to Deploy the Boy, as he calls the class C extinguisher, when his brother’s recipes get too intense.)</p><p> </p><p>It’s getting pretty obvious that any visual gag on Papyrus’s channel is highly likely to be Sans’s doing.</p><p> </p><p>You slump in front of the counter, bracing your hands on the edge so you’re behind the ruined tray in the stotic camera shot. Papyrus is already in perfect form without needing any prompting; pinching his nose ridge with the huge oven mitt still on, defeated, to your left.</p><p> </p><p>“They were going to be perfect,” Papyrus says, voice wobbly.</p><p> </p><p>Sans picks his camera back up and zooms into the carnage.</p><p> </p><p>“oh yeah. just like mama used to make.” there’s a beat. His grin is wicked as he makes eye contact with you. “oh, wait.”</p><p> </p><p>“Har, har, Sans,” Papyrus deadpans, muffled by the glove. “Yes, thank you, we do not have parents. How hilarious. You know, I rather enjoyed it when you didn’t say anything at all during filming. Let’s go back to that.”</p><p> </p><p>Sans ignores his brother, but you don’t. You’d noticed that the longer you filmed the baking segment, the more vocal he became. You idly wonder why. Is it because you’re here?</p><p> </p><p>...That would be hella cute.</p><p> </p><p>“plopped in hotland like a stork’s revenge.”</p><p> </p><p>Papyrus sighs a long suffering sigh. His silence is full of disappointment, but you can’t find it in you to feel bad about saving Sans’s third oven in the past two months.</p><p> </p><p>Papyrus must <em> really </em> like burning shit.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe we should blur that out, honestly, like Breath of the Wild’s signature dish,” you offer, trying to change the subject.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t invite you into my kitchen to insult Dubious Food,” Papyrus says, sulkily. “Or <em> my </em> food.” He’s purposefully covering his face now, but you can just <em> tell </em> he’s trying very hard not to smile.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean.” you gesture at your flour-coated apron. “I was the one who technically made it.”</p><p> </p><p>Papyrus tsks. “We didn’t let it cook long enough, that’s all. It’s a little raw.”</p><p> </p><p>You nearly choke a second time today, but it morphs into more of a wheeze.</p><p> </p><p>“right. raw.” Sans says, slowly, voicing your exact thoughts. “snickers, mind giving that nice <em> raw </em> one in the middle a solid slap with the fork?”</p><p> </p><p>“Certainly, Sans,” You oblige him, fishing out the fork’s prongs from under the fire extinguisher (oh my god. Did he do that on purpose? Sans is a master) and smacking the blackened cookie with the underside first. It cracks straight down the middle like a fault line.</p><p> </p><p>“we just witnessed the making of the grand canyon, kids,” Sans supplies, eyes on his camera screen. You snort; Papyrus huffs, but it might be him trying not to laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“It looks like when my dad would leave the burgers in the grill too long,” you muse, scraping at the surface with the prongs. You pick up the pan briefly with an  oven mitt and hold it up to the microphone. “ASMR but you can smell the sound.”</p><p> </p><p>Sans sniffs loudly. “i’m detecting hints of campfire.”</p><p> </p><p>“Next time I will add more salt,” Papyrus says, standing up straighter, as if that will do him any favors. He literally replaced all of the sugar in these ‘cookies’ with salt, <em> on purpose </em>, which no one wants to do, like, ever.</p><p> </p><p>Sans zooms in on the pan again. “good plan. do they, uh, come with the pan like a two-for-one deal or can they go solo?”</p><p> </p><p>You grab a metal spatula from the utensil cup and try your hardest to cram it under a cookie. It doesn’t even begin to break the surface, let alone slip under the bottom.</p><p> </p><p>“a mockery of hockey pucks, bro. you need to make sure they can get unstuck from the pan. how’re we gonna use ’em now? i even got my hockey stick out and everything.”</p><p> </p><p>“What in the world are you even talking about,” Papyrus sputters.</p><p> </p><p>Sans whips his camera around to zoom in on a golf club propped up against the far wall. You fight the urge to crack the hell up immediately.</p><p> </p><p>“Wrong sport, but you got the spirit,” you say, and you’re proud that your voice doesn’t waver, because that bit had not at all been planned. Where the fuck did that golf club even come from?</p><p> </p><p>“Right, so, I will taste test, since your pallet will not admire the many flavors.” Papyrus says, and you move aside to make way for his towering figure. He tries and fails to peel the cookies off and resorts to banging them with the handle of the spatula. Burnt bits fling everywhere.</p><p> </p><p>“oh, nice range, bro.”</p><p> </p><p>Papyrus gives his brother the stinkeye and ninja-stars a piece at him. He doesn’t even bother to dodge it, letting it smack his forehead. Foreskull?</p><p> </p><p>“That and I’m pretty sure fire extinguisher exhaust is toxic to humans,” you point out, making direct eye contact with Sans’s camera. When he gives you a thumbs up on the zoom in, you say, “Don’t eat fire extinguisher exhaust, kids. Unless you literally don’t have a stomach.”</p><p> </p><p>In the background, Papyrus crunches into a burnt as hell cookie and proceeds to act as if it’s good.</p><p> </p><p>×</p><p> </p><p>—COMMENTS—</p><p> </p><p><strong>ZeeZoo23</strong>: OMG. SANS IS HILARIOUS. WHY HAS HE NEVER BEEN IN A VIDEO BEFORE? AND SNICKERS IS SO FUNNY TOO. GOD</p><p>     <strong>SnakeMan</strong> Replied: he has he’s just hardly ever talked</p><p> </p><p><strong>oh?:</strong> 10:32 you can see sans’s outline in the fridge. big boy 👀 also 20:12 you can see his hands 👀👀👀👀</p><p> </p><p><strong>Heyhoe</strong>: The asmr gave me tingles</p><p> </p><p><strong>ScreamingGay</strong>: that last shot of Snickers in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded with cookie chaos, telling sans that he better eat her cookies next episode is seriously so fucking funny. she looks so tired</p><p> </p><p><strong>QQQQQUEST</strong>: that moment when pap slapped down the glue bottle with the other ingredients and snas zoomed into snicker’s dissociating face. 11/10</p><p><strong>     oh?</strong> Replied: my personal favorite is the dynamic zoomed in shot of god herself creating the grand canyon</p><p> </p><p><strong>Heathen_Butter</strong>: alternate video title: “Papyrus Has A Meltdown, Snickers And Sans Try To Make The Best Of It”</p><p>     <strong>Heyhoe</strong> Replied: “Snickers Learns How To Make Hockey Pucks, Almost Dies”</p><p>     <strong>Jayyy</strong> Replied: “Sans Hands Reveal”</p><p><strong>     oh?</strong> Replied: “thirty minutes of improv with exasperated pyromaniac in middle”</p><p> </p><p><strong>PapIsSpegettGod</strong>: Snickers: “So we’re making cookies today?”</p><p>Papyrus, lying: “yes”</p><p> </p><p><strong>Aaaaahthatsgoodcoke</strong>: As a long-time subscriber of Snickers, I would like everyone in the comments section to know that she is hungover as fuck</p><p><strong>     57382743</strong> Replied: Papyrus: *claps* Snickers, hungover: I Will Kill You.</p><p> </p><p><strong>Markiplierfan</strong>: is it just me or is Snickers and Sans perfect for each other? They did not stop slinging bullshit back and forth for thirty whole minutes.</p><p> </p><p><strong>Hand-me-down</strong>: Snickers is gonna have a hell of a time trying to teach Pap how to actually fucking bake at her house. I hope she has renter’s insurance.</p><p> </p><p><strong>RageAgainstMetta</strong>: Sans for forty straight cooking episodes: remains completely silent except a few bleeped curse words in the background every so often when a fire happens</p><p>Sans the moment Snickers shows up: will not shut the fuck up even when his brother begs him to</p><p>Conclusion: 🤔👀</p><p> </p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The comments been knew</p></blockquote></div></div>
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